No smell. No sound. But a trace left behind.
Your bare feet tiptoe across the snow, only footprints left behind. There are only frost-covered trees around you; so tall and thick; hugging you. It makes you comfortable. The trees protecting you, consoling, comforting you.
Quietly, you walk into a deeper part of the forest. No smell. No sound. Your footprints are the only proof that you were ever there.
The cold was not uncomfortable; it was refreshing, clearing your mind. The simple clearness made you calm and quiet. You continue down the untouched snow-white floor, creeping. Slowly.
You arrive at a majestic fountain; beautiful carvings ornated the brim; coins were staying peacefully at the bottom. The water squirted out of a stone fish's mouth.
You approach it slowly; unsure. What was bothering you? Where did this sudden uncomfortableness come from? You had no idea.
You lift your hand slowly towards the jet of water, expecting the freezing cold temperature wash over your limb.
Instead, the water was warm. A nice type of warm; like the Carribean sea.
You sit down on the brim, your hand still in the water.
Even in the harshest colds, even in the freezing blizzards, there will be warmth. Somewhere.
Even in the darkest times, even in the worst moments; there will somebody there for you. Somewhere.
There will be someone to be your warm fountain; there will be that one rebellious flame in the dead cold winter for you.
Now you just have to find it.
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United States • 17 years old